They Never Wait
by ghostanimal
Summary: Oneshot: They always say they'd wait. But they never wait. He found out the hard way that they never wait.


**Disclaimer: I only own a copy of Skyrim.**

**Summary: They always say they'd wait. But they never wait. He found out the hard way that they never wait.  
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**Rating: T  
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**Inspiration: The lines the bandits say when they haven't seen you yet  
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**Pairings: BanditxRandomperson  
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**Warnings: Angsty  
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**Other Notes:  
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He sighed as leaned against the wall separating him from the fall down to the ground. The wind began to pick up and blow through his hair, nice and cool on his skin. Skyrim was so beautiful. More beautiful than he had ever expected. The unspoiled scenery was a sight he witnessed daily while in the army, but now...now he could afford to sit back and enjoy what Skyrim had to offer.

Yes, being in the army was honorable, but difficult and hard. Not that being a bandit was easy, but to Oblivion with it all. He was glad he traded a soldier's hard, very demanding and stressful life for that of a more relaxed and easier bandit. Ever since he came home from the war, discovering her lies, he found himself quickly settled in the life of a bandit. More prizes, stronger mead, cheaper skooma and more beauty everywhere he looked, whether the women or Skyrim's landscape.

The beauty of Skyrim was almost as beautiful as she was.

Beautiful long, blonde locks of hair. Eyes as green as the grass, skin as fair as snow. Her scent was always of lilacs, voice so soft and sweet when she spoke to him. Tall and slender, perfect birthing hips and a fine example of the perfect Nord woman.

Best of all, she had been crazy for him, a poor excuse of a Nord. Short, covered in ugly scars, strange shade of light brown hair and right arm nearly useless due to a childhood accident. His left hand was weak, barely good enough to get him out of the army alive and into the questionable morals of bandits. He felt lucky to even be smiled at by her. To have her love was like a gift from the Divines.

A man came to stand by him, and he looked at him questioningly. It was Waraxe. He never learned his name, for he quickly learned that it just made dealing with the deaths of your comrades harder, but he knew this one well. The only man who stayed alive with him the entire two years he since he became one with bandits. He never asked his name, opted to nickname him Waraxe instead in honor of being the only bandit in the camp to use such a weapon. In the recent weeks, he was named chief of their bandit crew.

"Lyin' little harlot," he snarled, taking a long swig from a bottle of mead. The man knew that the harlot was Waraxe's on and off again lover in the nearby city of Whiterun. "That brat ain't mine...could be anyone's...won't get one rusty septim from me. Aye Prefect, you see any trouble, boy?"

Prefect. His old solider rank before he ran off to join the bandits. Waraxe made that his nickname as Prefect made Waraxe his after they realized they both stayed alive longer than they realized. Real names would make their quickly approaching deaths harder to deal with in a business in which you shouldn't attach yourself to others.

"Nope," he replied.

They stood comfortably together side by side. Neither forced small talk, for it wasn't needed. The silence was comfortable, and they both took pride in the beautiful world of Skyrim.

It was almost as beautiful as her.

He remembered the early mornings sent sitting on the castle walls, watching the sun rise high above the mountains of Skyrim. The lazy afternoons listening to the beautiful music at the Bard's college, snuggled happily together on a bench. Beautiful starlit nights they would take near the shipping docks, watching the waves crash around against the shores as they listened to the chatter from the sailors and the ringing of the dock bells.

Her voice.

He could still conjure it from memory. The soft, gentle tone she always spoke to him with. Her voice was always so soft and sweet. It never rose to a scream or yell. Always beautifully calm, and always so loving to him. The words always escaped velvety lips, the perfect shade of pink that always curled upwards in a smile when she saw him.

The memory of their last night before he left for war never left him. He had an arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding a torch so that they could see each other clearly before her left that next morning. The wind was making her long locks sway with the wind as she tightened her arms around his neck.

_"I do not want you to go," she whispered softly to him._

_"I will be back. I swear by the Divines that I will return," he assured her. She gave one of her enchanting smiles, green eyes sparkling in the light from the torch._

_"I'll wait for you," she promised, pressing velvet lips against his._

But she didn't. His superior allowed him two weeks leave so that he could visit her, show her that he was keeping his promise to her by returning. Upon visiting her house, he saw that she had not kept her own. In the arms of a Nord that fit the example image. Strong, muscular, and towered above the other races. Handsome, fit, and he was probably from an honorable family. Prefect himself barely stood taller than his love, and his past was him being born and raised on a tiny farm.

When he questioned her, she simply stated that she thought he had died. Hearing that answer broke his heart in so many ways. Mainly because he could see the web of lies underneath it. Had she really loved him, she would have waited at least for the letter of apology for her loss from his superior. She probably prayed that he did die so that he would not see how she was with another. Not only was she with another, but he saw the band of matrimony and how her stomach slowly rounding with child.

"Should have known she was lying," Prefect mumbled to his half-drunk companion. "Said she'd wait for me..." He cursed how weak he sounded and how his voice was cracking from hurt. "But they never wait..."

"Women are all harlots," Waraxe pronounced in agreement. "Tempt you with the good stuff, next thing ya know, they chasing after ya trying to make you play daddy to their bastard brats."

Prefect struggled to smile, but he accepted the half bottle of mead Waraxe offered him and took a much needed drink. Becoming drunk helped some. It dulled the pain, but it always returned once the mead's magic left.

Nothing could permanently remove the pain of her broken promise. Nobody would love him as much as he loved her. Nowhere in Skyrim could he find a beauty that matched hers. At this point, everything was broken promises and empty memories. She had another, and a little baby. A strong boy or beautiful girl. Probably with child again at this point. And here he was, leaning against the wall looking at a beautiful landscape he may not see tomorrow, hanging out with a man who's true name he didn't know nor wished to know. There was a good chance neither would live to see tomorrow, but he was strangely okay with that. He didn't have her anymore, and he had nothing left to loose.

They always say they'd wait. But they never wait.


End file.
